All's Fair in Love and War
by LucianLoveNarnia
Summary: Natasha has never been a jealous person, and nothing has ever given her reason. But when a woman comes in claiming to be a trainee for S.H.I.E.L.D., things change. Rated for strong language, no lemons. Summary sucks, story is better.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a Clintasha fanfic I've actually been writing for a while. I finally decided I wanted to post it, so here ya go. A romance/angst fic, rating for strong language but no lemon. Enjoy!**

Natasha wasn't the jealous type. She had never had reason to be jealous. Nothing and no one had ever given her reason. In the Red Room facility in Russia, she'd been the number one trainee. It was the reason she'd taken the name Black Widow after the Black Widow Ops program that the Red Room was part of. She'd been friends with Clint for twelve years, even through his marriage with Barbara Morse AKA Mockingbird. She was there for him as his marriage began to fall apart. She was there after Barbara died. She didn't feel anything romantically toward him until a couple years after Barbara's death when they were on a mission together and he, out of nowhere, had kissed her. She'd found herself kissing him back and realized she was in love with him. It wasn't long after that that she agreed to his proposal. The only one who'd known was Phil. It wasn't that they told him, it was that he was around them so much that any detail about them didn't escape his notice. As such, when the engagement ring appeared on a chain around Natasha's neck, he guessed and they answered truthfully.

After Phil's death and everything that happened in New York, Clint actually caught Natasha crying. When she realized he was in the room, she turned away from him to wipe her tears away. He'd walked over to her and caught her hands while she half-heartedly tried to push him away.

"I miss him," she finally admitted once he'd pulled her in close. His arms were tight around her, and for once she didn't mind her vulnerability in the situation.

"I know, Nat. I do too." She'd spent the rest of the night in his arms, silent tears streaming down her face at the loss of one of her oldest friends.

A few months later they were called back into work. It was a welcome distraction for Natasha, who was still having a hard time with Phil's death. Clint could never say that she got over it, but she learned to deal. It was the same with him, but he was being strong for her.

Now they were back in the city, a couple years after the Chitauri attack. Everything was rebuilt, including Clint and Natasha's apartment. A lot of their stuff had been destroyed, but since none of it had held any sentimental value, replacing it all was no big deal.

Natasha was finally getting back into the swing of things, training new agents, and sometimes scaring the crap out of them because she could. One of the newer trainees was obviously sweet on Clint, but she never said anything to the woman. Natasha could tell when she looked at Clint that he knew and didn't care. She was never given reason to be jealous, even now. Still, when the batch of newbies were being taught the vague stuff—they'd go into detail in small teams later—and the woman who liked him was attempting (and failing, miserably) to flirt with him, she wanted to rip the woman's brown hair out of her head. She was attempting to flirt with him again, so Natasha walked over and put a hand on Clint's shoulder, leaning in to whisper in his ear about one of the other newbies behaving oddly in a corner of the room. He caught sight of the man, messing around with some of the weapons and obviously going to hurt someone—most likely himself—and nodded. He walked away without a word to either of them. The trainee watched him go before turning and shooting a glare at Natasha. Instead of saying anything, Natasha's hand went to the gun on her hip in a threatening manner. The woman took the hint and walked away.

That night, in their apartment, Clint and Nat were sitting and eating dinner in silence. Clint studied her face, reading her expression easily. She hated that he was able to do that, especially after her entire life was spent on keeping her features hidden under a mask of passivity.

"What are you so upset about?" he asked, aggravating her further. He could tell she wasn't happy about something, even if he couldn't exactly tell what. Twelve years of being around him, four of those years being married to him, were probably making her soft. She wouldn't care if it weren't for the fact that she was pissed off at the moment. She pulled her poker face and glanced up at him as she replied.

"I'm not upset."

"You are."

"No I'm not." The anger in her voice grew more than she had meant, but she wasn't in the mood to keep her tone in check.

"Tasha." She only ever let him call her that. Anyone else would probably lose something…valuable. "You can tell me anything. You know that." Yes, she did know that. She looked back up at him and saw the concerned look in his eyes. Her anger melted away, as if it had never been there in the first place. She sighed.

"That woman, the agent-in-training…she tries to flirt with you." The look on his face morphed into an amused smirk, raising her ire again.

"You're worried about her futile attempts to flirt with me?"

"No, I'm not worried. I know you would never flirt back. For the most part you ignore her, but I still don't like it." She knew she was starting to sound like a whiny child, but this was Clint she was talking to. _I can tell him anything,_ she reminded herself. She was almost mad that she had to remind herself that.

"Nat, you're jealous. It's normal. But I love you. That's why I married you."

"I've never been jealous before." Okay, now she did sound like a whiny child.

"That doesn't make it any less normal, Tasha."

"Well, I don't like it. It's irrational and stupid." _Like how you're starting to sound,_ she thought.

"Like Stark?" Clint asked, quirking an eyebrow. Natasha laughed—a real, humored, happy laugh that only Clint had ever heard—and the archer smiled, taking her hand across the table and squeezing it reassuringly.

"I love you, Tasha."

Her smile softened and she whispered, "I love you, too."

**Yay for Clintasha fluffiness! The angst doesn't grow too much until a few chapters later, but be warned. There will be angst, and lots of it.  
Review for me!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Yay, I'm glad people like this so far. I'm having a blast with it. Also, what would you guys think if I did a fic about the kids of the Avengers? Lemme know!**

The next day Fury split up the trainees into groups and assigned them to different agents, including Clint and Natasha. They would only be working with them for the weapon training, and then the groups would be moving on to other teachers for the rest of their training. But for this part, they needed the weapons specialist agents.

"Agent Romanoff, you will be in charge of Nelson and Marx. Agent Barton, you're in charge of Frey and Smith." They nodded and left the room, Clint snorting in amusement as they walked down the hall.

"Agent Smith, huh?" he chuckled. "I'm half hoping it's a woman just so we won't have a Matrix deal on our hands…. Then again, I won't ever be able to take it seriously." Natasha smirked.

"Sounds like I'm in charge of someone of Russian descent. I wonder if that was a coincidence," the redhead mused. "I suppose I would be the most qualified to train him."

"How do you know it's a 'him'? Maybe it's a woman."

"You of all people should know that I don't train women. Fury certainly knows it. They're weaker and whinier and give up easier."

"Kinda sexist, don't you think Nat?"

"It's not when I'm saying it."

"Oh, really? And why's that?"

"Because I'm a woman."

"I never would have guessed." He chuckled when she bumped his shoulder with hers. "Anyway," he went on, "be careful."

"You're not _worried_, are you Agent Barton?" She almost never called him that, except when they were on missions together—it was more professional than "Clint"—or if she was teasing him. For the moment, it was the latter.

"I never said to be careful because of _you_. I'm saying be careful with them. We don't need to purchase broken merchandise." Fully aware of the fact that they were probably being watched on cameras and they technically weren't supposed to have any kind of romantic relationship as, not only coworkers, but partners, she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

"No promises," she told him before walking away. He watched her go with a smile on his face, chuckling and shaking his head when she was out of eyesight.

Juliana Frey was more than happy when she found out archer Clint Barton was in charge of her weapons training. Well, technically not just her. He was also working with a man by the name of Matthew Smith. He was a nice enough guy, albeit a little young. She smiled at the thought of Barton helping her learn how to hold and use the weapons. However, her thoughts soured when she remembered the way the redhead senior agent—Natasha Romanoff—had acted with Barton. They appeared to be in some kind of a relationship, or at least had been friends for a very long time. When she'd asked, Barton had simply replied that they had been partners for twelve years. A friendship could grow very strong in such a matter of time. _Looks like I have some competition,_ she thought to herself. She wasn't actually particularly fond of being an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., she was just doing it to get close to Barton. The palms of her hands heated with anticipation, magic sparking under her skin. She clenched her hands into fists as the door to the room she was sitting in opened and Matthew and Barton walked in. Matthew took his seat next to Juliana, and Barton hesitated when he saw her before closing the door behind him and moving to his own seat across from the two.

"I know you both already, but protocol is protocol, so I need you both to tell me your names and ages," he told them once he was sitting.

"Matthew Smith, age 24." Matthew was a rather good-looking young man, with short, curly, brown hair and brown eyes. If he were a little older, Juliana might have even taken interest in him.

"Juliana Frey, age 30." Juliana had spent a lot of her life in California, and definitely looked the part. She had long, sun-bleached blonde hair, sun-tanned skin, and blue eyes. Barton's eyes didn't rest on her very long—something she felt rather put-out by—and instead lowered to scan the files sitting in front of him.

"Tomorrow we'll be going into the gym to begin your weapons training. We'll spend the next two weeks on that alone before you move on to receive the rest of your training. But for now I'll have to question you about your knowledge of the weapons on this sheet in front of me, and whatever you don't know, we'll spend more time working on that." His voice was flat, monotone, as if he'd done this close to a thousand times. Juliana didn't doubt that he had. Still, she was excited about getting into the gym and having him teach her about the various weaponry.

Clint handed them both small packets and pens before glancing up at the small clock above the door as they started reading the packets. He couldn't help but feel like an elementary school teacher, teaching the same things every single year and having to stick to a rigid schedule with no room for leniency. He stood and headed for the door.

"Take all the time you need," he told them. "I'll be in just the other room."

"And when we're done?" Frey asked, glancing up to look at him.

"I'll know." The door swung shut behind him. He walked a few feet down the hallway and opened a door that led into a surveillance room. He could see Smith and Frey on one of the screens. Natasha was already there, looking boredly at the screen that showed her trainees. She waved slightly when Clint walked in.

"How are the newbies?" she asked.

"Pretty obedient so far."

"Yeah, that's always the boring part. It's like they're puppies that we're teaching tricks to, not human beings that are learning how to use weapons." She paused, glancing over at the screen that showed Clint's trainees. "I don't like that Frey is that woman that has been flirting with you."

"Trust me, Tasha, I don't like it either. But these are smart people. I won't have to be training them for long."

"You're always so optimistic about that. My question is…why?" Clint moved to sit next to her and wrapped an arm around her waist. The surveillance rooms were probably the only ones without cameras in them.

"I've found it pays to be optimistic." Natasha snorted and rolled her eyes. "Don't believe me?" he asked.

"Not really, no."

"I think I was being pretty optimistic when I asked you to marry me."

"That's different. You knew I'd say yes."

"No, actually, I didn't. We never discussed your feelings on marriage, even when I was married to Bobbi. I had no idea what you were going to say."

"Well, I did say yes, otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation." Clint chuckled and pressed a kiss to her temple. They sat in complete silence for a while before Frey and Smith set down their pens. Clint sighed, knowing that was his cue to leave and go back to his trainees. But honestly, he didn't want to leave.

"How much did you know?" Smith asked. Clint felt like the elementary school teacher again, watching his students discuss a test they had just taken.

"Not much," Frey replied, shrugging. "Weapons were never my area of expertise. I'm better with technology. And you?"

"Pretty good, I think. My father was a Marine, and he taught me a lot about weaponry." Clint nodded to himself at this small piece of information. He turned and kissed Natasha lightly, noting that her trainees were still bent over the paper like they were taking a test.

"I'd better get back in there."

"Mmkay." Clint moved through the hallway and the room on silent feet, something he'd perfected long ago. He noticed with slight amusement that Frey jumped in surprise when he reached out and picked up the packet. Smith seemed to have already noticed his presence. He sat back down across from them, reading through the papers and nodding every once in a while to himself. Finally he set the paper down.

"Good job, Smith," he complimented the younger trainee. "There are only a few details missing, but as of right now they aren't important." He turned to Frey. "You, however, Frey, need to work more on this. It's my knowledge that you're better with technology, am I right?" She looked a bit perplexed before nodding.

"That's right," she answered.

"You might be assigned as a hacker. I doubt that, even after training, they'd want you in the field." He ignored the insulted look on her face. "For today, this is all. After training, I'll give you these little _quizzes_ again and see how much you know. They will help determine what your position in S.H.I.E.L.D. will be. That's all."

**I just kinda came up with something that sounded good for training the agents. Honestly, I have no idea how stuff like that actually works. Hope you liked it! Review for me!**


	3. Chapter 3

**HI, GUYS. HI. I'M STILL ALIVE I SWEAR. SCHOOLWORK AND WRITER'S BLOCK AND DOCTOR WHO AND WALKING DEAD, DAMMIT. Enjoy!**

"We're starting weapons' training today." This was usually the way their conversations started on work days, involving something they were doing that day or trainees they were working with. He opened the car door for her and closed it behind her before rounding and getting in the driver's side.

"Fun." Deadpan tone. She wasn't in a good mood today, apparently. Still, he kept talking to her, wanting to hear her voice before having to be separated from her all day.

"Do you think your trainees will do okay?"

"They're competent enough."

"Coming from you, Tasha, that's a pretty big compliment." This caused the corners of her mouth to curve upwards. Just a little. But it was enough for him.

"What about you?" she asked, and he could tell the question was asked more out of courtesy than actual interest. He glanced at her briefly, just quick enough to catch the grimace on her face.

"Smith will be okay. Frey will need some more help."

"Hmm."

"I know it's not what you wanted to hear, but it's the truth."

"I know. And I appreciate your honesty. But I don't like her. Something about her rubs me the wrong way, and before you suggest it, it's not just the flirting. Or…the flirting _attempts_, as it were."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Something seems _off_ about her. I can't describe it…and you probably wouldn't get it, anyway." Clint stopped at a red light and leaned over to press his lips against hers. It was a sweet kiss, albeit a short one.

"I love _you_, Tasha. Nothing is going to change that, okay?"

"I know."

He was right about his trainees. Smith was good with almost every weapon that was handed to him. Frey, however, insisted that she needed help with everything. It got on his nerves, but, being the professional spy he was, he kept his annoyance under a poker face. They were working with short-range weapons for the day. That included knives and pistols, among other things.

"Lunch break?" Smith asked a few hours later, a slightly disappointed look taking over his features.

"Yeah, lunch break," Clint replied. "Don't worry, it's only an hour, and then we'll be back in here with the rest of the short-range weapons." He clapped the younger man on the shoulder as they headed out of the room. Frey seemed to hesitate when she saw that Clint was headed in the opposite direction she was going.

"Something wrong, Frey?"

"Oh…no, nothing," she said, making up her mind and following Smith towards the cafeteria. Clint turned and walked towards the break room, only peeking in to check to see if Natasha was there. She was, and caught sight of him from the corner of her eye. She gave the slightest nod and he walked back out. A few minutes later, she followed. He walked into an empty surveillance room—one of the only places on base that didn't have cameras—and heard when she slipped in thirty seconds later.

"How's training going?" he asked, turning to give her a smile.

"Well enough. They're not absolutely terrible, but they need a lot of help." She rolled her eyes, not bothering to specify who "they" were, as Clint knew well who she meant.

"Frey insists on needing help every time I hand her a weapon," the archer sighed. "It's gone far past annoying." Natasha chuckled and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck. They seldom got moments alone lately; they'd both been working overtime for the past few months and only _really_ saw each other at home after work. Even then, they would both be so tired that they just wanted to collapse in bed and go to sleep.

"Are you hungry?" Clint asked when they pulled away a moment later. Natasha shook her head.

"Not really. Are you?"

"Nah."

An hour later, they parted ways, going back to their trainees. Upon re-entering the gym, Smith gave him a nod while Frey smiled—a little too warmly—at him. He returned Smith's nod but ignored Frey's smile. He ignored when her face fell. He was going to keep this strictly business, and if he had to ignore her to do so, then so be it. Throughout the last two hours of the day, he would demonstrate how he wanted her to use the weapon he would hand her, but other than that, she was on her own.

She was starting to get put-out by his cold attitude. Once she had the spell in place, all it would take was skin-on-skin contact to take effect. Whether that be as simple as touching his arm, or more complex like a kiss would be up to him. So far, there was no way she was getting anywhere near him.

After training was over for the day, Julia caught him putting the short-range weapons they'd worked with away. She walked up to him, watching him work with the knives, flipping them around in his hands briefly before putting them in their cases. It was only when his hands paused that she looked up at his face. He was looking at her now.

"Is there something you need, Frey?" he asked.

"I was just curious if you wanted to go out to coffee…or something." He stared at her incredulously before turning away.

"That's unprofessional," he replied simply.

"Well, um…it-it doesn't have to be…" There was a long silence before he spoke again, his voice holding exasperation.

"I'm not available, Frey."

"Oh…you're seeing someone?" Her mind flashed to the redhead, Agent Romanoff, and she narrowed her eyes. Maybe this would be more difficult than she'd originally thought. She stared at him for another long while before he finally answered.

"I'm married." He finished putting the weapons away and turned. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to shut down the room for the day. I'm going to need you to leave." She nodded and walked out, thinking of another approach to this. Maybe she could do the spell without having to get close to him….

Clint watched Frey leave before shutting off the lights and leaving the room. It locked behind him. He gave another sigh and was walking towards the parking lot when he was stopped.

"Is something wrong?" he asked the agent that stopped him.

"Director Fury wishes to speak with you."

**Kay, there ya go, another chapter. FINALLY. I'm such an ass for putting this off, but writer's block is a bitch and I've been caught up with Doctor Who. And now I HAVE TO WAIT FOR SEASON SEVEN TO BE ON NETFLIX BECAUSE WE DON'T GET BBC, DAMMIT. Anyway, rant over. Review for me!**


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